


we've got chemistry

by soulofme



Category: Easy Love - Fandom
Genre: F/F, Girls in Love, Val Catches Feelings, it's a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-23 01:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14321388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulofme/pseuds/soulofme
Summary: "I don’t know her relationship status or preferences or anything like that! And she’s also my tutor. You don’t tell your tutor you want to kiss them everytime they look at you.”Nick doesn’t exactly smile, but his eyes kind of curve up around the corners and he looks faintly amused.“You like her,” he says.[or, val catches feelings and has a mental breakdown.]





	we've got chemistry

You’re sitting in the library, staring blankly at the textbook in front of you. Introduction to Chemistry, according to the front cover. Mandarin Chinese, according to you. None of it makes sense, not the symbols or letters or helpful formulas printed in the margins. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at it, but you can only hope that you’ll understand it sometime between now and your final at the end of the month.

Before you can once again immerse yourself in the wonderful world of redox equations and buffers, the chair before you is pulled out.

“Sorry I’m late,” Della says. Her hair is tied up into a bun, held together only by the two pencils stuck through the center. You shake your head, brushing off her apology.

“It’s fine,” you insist, flashing her a quick smile. It’s a dazzler, one that you save for only the most special of occasions.

Della is, of course, completely immune to it. She’s not even looking at you as she roots around in her backpack, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. You think faintly to yourself that she looks almost beautiful. Almost, because a compliment like _that_ feels strange when applied to Della. Anyone else, and you wouldn’t have cared. But her?

Della is uncharted territory, a path you’ve never taken before. You’ve spent the last few weeks mulling things through in your head, doing some admittedly overdue introspection. Thinking isn’t your strong point, and you’re well aware of that. You’re more of an act first, think later kind of girl. The only thing you truly know about yourself is that you get what you want.

You’ve never really thought about what would happen if what you wanted happened to be Della. She seems like everything you’d avoid in a potential lover. She’s got an iron-will that completely trumps yours, a don’t-care-attitude that’s completely genuine, and a general disregard for all things material.

You, on the other hand, care entirely too much about how the world views you. Not a bad thing, per se, but bad enough that sometimes you wish you weren’t so goddamn materialistic. That, of course, has everything to do with your ex-boyfriend, a man-child who could hardly tell his head from his ass. He knew enough to teach you a thing or two, though, and now you’re here, considerably more humble than you’ve been in _years_.

“...Valentina?” Della’s staring straight at you, and you jolt when you realize she’s been speaking while you have your little interior monologue. Shame and embarrassment color your cheeks, and you find yourself hoping the ceiling will crash down right over your head.

“Val’s fine,” you say. Another smile, only this time she’s able to see it. She gives you a smile of her own, something small and barely noticeable, but it’s a bazillion times more attractive on her. A subtle beauty, if you will.

 _Jesus_ , you think. _What a woman_.

You’re being a little overdramatic, sure, but would you be Valentina Nicoloro if you weren’t? The answer is a big, fat, resounding _no_. Drama is your middle name, something that influences each and every one of your actions.

“Right, well…” she trails off, peering over her mound of notebooks to look at your textbook. “What are you on?”

“Redox reactions,” you say, staring down at the page. “I kind of get them, but I can’t seem to get the right answer. Maybe I’m doing something wrong.”

“Let’s start with a basic problem, then,” she says, all business and no play. Your heart flutters and it’s the worst thing you’ve ever experienced. “Tell me as soon as you get lost, okay?”

You nod, the lump in your throat far too obstructive for you to get an actual word out. Della quickly launches into an explanation, outlining a problem she labels as “easy.” Easy for her, maybe, who’s a double major in biology and chemistry. But sure as hell not easy for you, an English major forced into medicine by her pharmacist father and lawyer mother.

You get lost halfway through the problem, but it has nothing to do with the symbols of math. It has everything to do with Della. The delicate arch of a brow when you explain what confuses you, the tiny flash of teeth when she comforts you with an effortless grin, or hell, even the faint smell of coconut that comes across the table in a gentle breeze.

 _Damn_ , you think, heart hammering like a goddamn drum, _you’ve got it bad_.

 

* * *

 

There aren’t really many people you can go to with the “Della Problem”, as you’ve so perfectly dubbed it. It’s not like you don’t have friends.

No, you have an abundance of them. An amount so overwhelming that birthday parties had been difficult growing up due to the sheer number of invitations you had to write out.

But the fact of the matter is you don’t have any _close_ friends. Friends you can party with or go shopping with or walk to school with are common. Those were easy, simple roles that practically anyone can fill. They don’t require late-night phone calls, promises to keep confidential conversations, well, _confidential_ , or even a shoulder to lean on.

But God, do you wish you had one of those friends now. You’re not asking for much, just a listening ear. Someone to clear the fog out from in front of you and point out that _hey, maybe you_ **_do_** _have a crush on Della_.

Which, as previously mentioned, would be fine. Really. You’d just like to know what that flutter in your chest is. Because if it’s the sign of an impending heart attack, you’d like to get your affairs in order before then, thank you very much.

So, anyway. A friend. You have many, but you need one who won’t spread around your little secret like wildfire. Off the top of your head, you can think of two, maybe three.

Ace Teague is in your drawing class, and he’s a riot. A pretty boy with a great sense of humor and a way with a pencil and a sketchbook. He can draw anything you ask of him in about ten seconds flat. Well, maybe not _that_ quickly. But quickly enough that he’s done by the time you finish speaking.

The big problem with him, though, is that he and Della are best friends. You don’t know for how long, since you hardly speak to Ace and Della is nothing more than your tutor. Not a lot of opportunities to get their backstories and such. But anyway, best friends. You’d hate for Ace to casually mention it to Della, and for _her_ to casually mention to you that she’s not interested. Which, honestly, you’re expecting in every scenario you’ve created in your head. You don’t know what Della’s preferences are, but you have a sneaking suspicion that you might not fit the bill.

So, Ace is out.

Demian Price is a somewhat good friend of yours. He’s in your lit class, and he’s probably read every classical novel known to man twice. He’s helped you out with more than a few essays, and knows which words to use to make anyone's heart melt. He’s friends with Ace _and_ Della though, so he’s a definite no.

Your last option isn’t your best, to be honest, but it’s all you have. Compared to Demian and Ace, Nickolas Hwang seems the least likely to spill your secrets. For one, he’s got walls around him that go up to heaven. Nobody knows jack about him. Not even Ace, his boyfriend (nobody even know they were dating until Ace opened his mouth). He doesn’t have many friends, but that’s apparently how he likes it. You’ve only ever seen him around Ace and Della—sometimes Demian—but he never opens his mouth.

He’s the safest bet you have, and you’d have to be a full-on idiot not to grasp the opportunity with both hands.

You approach Nick right before your head off to lunch, rehearsing your lines in your head. You’ve gotten a general idea of his schedule thanks to some sleuthing (totally not creepy, you promise). You know that he heads to lunch right when you do, so the plan is to snag him sometime between the end of class and before you head to the cafeteria. Then, you can sit him down in one of those nice, empty tables by the window and lay your problem out for him.

“Hey, you’re Nick, right?” Casual, smooth, easy. You’ve got this.

He turns and yanks an earbud out of his ear, sizing you up before nodding.

“Yeah. Val, right?”

“That’s me,” you say, resisting the urge to give him one of your stunning smiles. He looks like he'll hate that. “My friends are still in class and I don’t really feel like eating alone. Are you free? Maybe we can sit together.”

“Uh, sure,” he says slowly, looking completely and utterly confused. “That sounds fine.”

“Great!” you chirp, and link your arm around his. He stiffens, but eventually gives into the touch. Score!

You arrive at the dining hall, where you grab a salad and a bottle of orange juice. Nick grabs two slices of pizza and a Gatorade and follows you over to your preferred table. You sit across from him, jiggling your leg nervously as your prepared speech flies out of the window. Nick quietly begins to eat, avoiding eye contact with every bite.

You clear your throat.

“Alright, I’m going to be completely honest,” you say, sliding your tray forward so you can fold your hands in front of you. Business, you’re all _business_. “I may or may not have a crush on Della. I’m sure you’re wondering why that’s important. In the grand scheme of things it’s not. But I’ve kept this to myself for, like, _weeks_ , and I’m literally about to explode.”

You sit back in your seat, feeling utterly exhausted. Nick blinks owlishly at you before he sets his pizza down.

“So you thought you’d talk to me about it?”

“I consider us to be kind of friends.”

“Kind of friends?”

“You seemed like a safer bet than Demian. Or Ace. I feel like he has a big mouth.”

Nick snorts into his Gatorade. “Ace does have a very big mouth.”

“Glad I didn’t tell him, then,” you say. “You know what, forget I said anything. Sorry for forcing you over here.”

“Nah, you're good. Didn't think _that_ was what you wanted, but it's cool.”

“Great,” you say, running your fingers through your hair. This the worst. The abso-fucking-lute _worst_.

“Why don’t you just tell her?” Nick says, continuing to eat. You wrinkle your nose, unable to comprehend how he can do such a thing while you're having a existential crisis right in front of him.

“I’m sorry, what?” you say. “If that was an option, I already would have. I literally cannot do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know her relationship status or preferences or _anything_ like that! And she’s also my _tutor_. You don’t tell your _tutor_ you want to kiss them everytime they look at you.”

Nick doesn’t exactly smile, but his eyes kind of curve up around the corners and he looks faintly amused.

“You like her,” he says.

You like her.

You repeat the words, over and over, with a little more conviction each time.

“Holy shit,” you say. “I _like_ her.”

 

* * *

 

Once your feelings are all sorted out, you and Nick resort to topics a little safer than your undeniable crush on your chemistry tutor. By the time you’re finished, you feel less like you want to curl up into a hole and die and more like you want to seize the day. 

When you meet Della the next week in the library, you’re sure to swipe on some cherry lip balm and spritz your neck with perfume. You’re going all out for this. If you happen to get rejected, you’ll at least feel pretty when you lock yourself in a bathroom stall and _cry._

Della is on time. Which is cool, you guess, until you realize you're not ready. All of your practice feels inadequate when you find yourself faced with the very object of your desires. Della looks flawlessly beautiful, as always, and your chest physically seizes up when she slides into the seat in front of you.

"Hey, Val," she says, flashing a bright smile. "What do you need help with today?"

"You," you blurt out.

Della blinks slowly, her mouth parted open. You choke on your own saliva like a goddamn  _fool_. That spurs Della into action, and she roots around in her bag before sliding you a bottle of apple juice. You take a few greedy sips, your cheeks flaming red, and pretend that the last few seconds didn't happen. Maybe Della didn't even hear you.

"Um...what?"

No, scratch that. She heard.

You set the bottle down and nod to yourself, licking remnants of the juice off of your lips. The artificial cherry taste of your lip balm attaches itself to each and every one of your tastebuds, reminding you of the act at hand. You can do this. Valentina Nicoloro is  _not_ a quitter.

"I think I like you," you say. Della opens her mouth again, but you keep on going. "Like, actual like. I don't even know how it happened, but I think you're really...pretty."

Pretty doesn't begin to cover it, but you don't want to come on too strong. You settle back against your seat, feeling completely and totally overwhelmed, and suddenly Della begins to...laugh?

She laughs for what feels like hours, loud enough that the other kids in the library start giving her strange looks. You want to die. Honest to God.

"Please don't laugh at me," you say, miserable, and it's enough to get Della to sober up.

"I'm not laughing at you," she says, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. You scowl at the sight. "I'm just surprised it took you so long."

"I'm sorry, what?" you ask, completely confused. Della gives you a mischievous grin.

"Nick told me he thinks you like me. I brushed him off, but after a while I started thinking the same thing."

"Wait, what?!" You sit up straight in your seat. Nickolas Hwang is a goner, you promise yourself. No wonder he was so willing to hear you out. "Are you kidding me? I went to him because I thought he'd be the least likely to tell you anything."

"He's got a big mouth," she says, her eyes practically sparkling. It's incredibly distracting. "Everyone thinks Ace does, but he's got nothing on Nick."

"Well," you say, your head throbbing. "This is the worst."

"Why?" Della says, her lips quirking up in a smirk. "I like you too."

"I..." Language abandons you, leaving you gaping at her like a fish out of water. "Please don't joke around."

"I'm not," Della assures you, leaning across the table. She smells like coconut and a warm summer breeze and the girl of your dreams. "I was going to use a chemistry pun on you, but I'll save it for the second date."

"Second date?" you echo. "What happened to the first?"

"We're on it," Della says, getting up with a wink. She hooks her bag over her shoulders and raises a brow at you. "Coming?"

You scramble up out of your seat.


End file.
